Excerpt
Seeing Red
CassidyIf there’s one thing men have, it’s the f***ing audacity. Bringing the girl he cheated on me with to my hometown rodeo is next level. My beer bottle slams into the sticky picnic table with such intensity, it’s astounding it doesn’t break. Although, if it broke, I’d have something to cut my ex-boyfriend’s arrogant face with. And that scenario doesn’t sound half bad.
“I’m getting another,” I yell at one of my best friends, Shelby, over the Brooks & Dunn cover band. “I’m gonna get stabby if I have to watch them make out for another second.”
“I could go for another.” Shelby nods and swallows the last of her beer with a gulp. “Quit watching them; your wallowing days are supposed to be over, girl. Screw him. Fight fire with fire—get yourself a man for the night.”
“Minor problem, Shelb. I’m not interested in a single guy here.”
Normally, I don’t date. Not because I’m a goody two-shoes, although a lot of people in town seem to believe I am. I simply have a strict set of rules. Just like ninety-nine percent of the two thousand residents, I’ve lived in Wells Canyon since I was a baby. All I want is someone who hasn’t known me since I was in diapers, doesn’t spend every Friday night at my dad’s bar, and hasn’t slept with either of my best friends. My bar for men is so damn low it may as well be in hell, yet none of the single men at this barn dance check all three boxes.
Failing to see the giant red flags he was waving, I agreed to the fateful first date with Derek over a year ago, simply because he checked the boxes. Then everything went to shit. My best friends see that as a sign I should give it up and date a local. Vehemently disagree.
“Well, we’re here to get you out of your funk, and letting him under your skin all night won’t help. Forget about him.”
“Yeah, easier said than done. There’s only, like, a hundred people here and he’s tall. Sort of makes it impossible to forget about him.”
In the two weeks since breaking up with Derek, I’ve had my ups and downs. The past five days have definitely been rock bottom. I’ve been wearing the same pajamas the entire time—not just at night. All day. Eating cereal out of a mixing bowl and drinking room-temperature sangria. Quite often at the same time. I essentially morphed into a college frat boy stuck in a depression spiral because he wasn’t allowed to spend spring break in Florida. I may have even gone down a little Girls Gone Wild YouTube rabbit hole. If all that isn’t the lowest of the low, I don’t know what is.
Desperate for a reckless night out—something to get back to feeling myself—for me this rodeo couldn’t have come soon enough. Then my motherf***ing ex-boyfriend had to turn up and kill my vibe.
Approaching the bar, I lose all of Shelby’s attention the moment she spots her crush of the month, Denver Wells, one of the ranchers at Wells Ranch, the local cattle empire. He’s cute enough, with short brown hair, dimples, and a lean, muscular body. Plus, he’s a saddle bronc rider, which seems to impress most girls around here. And Denny’s actually a pretty nice guy, but again, I have rules for a reason.
In typical fashion, Shelby orders two bottles of beer and vanishes into the crowd without a word. All I can see from my mediocre 5´6˝ height is the peak of her rhinestone cowboy hat bobbing among the throng of people in front of the stage as she works her way toward Denny’s picnic table at the far right. Shelby’s been boy crazy for as long as I’ve known her, and even though I don’t fully understand it, I love that for her.
I grab my drinks and step aside to take in the rodeo beer gardens, breathing in the cool spring air. It’s just a square patch of cement, corralled off with livestock panels and neon orange snow fencing, keeping the chaos controlled as if we’re an unruly herd of cattle. One way in and out, past the singular cop in town and his team of volunteer bouncers. It smells more like horse crap than I typically enjoy, but I’ll take that over what this group of dirty cowboys, drunks, and perfume-drenched women would smell like if we weren’t out in the open air.
Scanning the crowd, I don’t see anyone I’m interested in hanging out with. I suppose Denver and his ranch hands aren’t the worst group to socialize with for the night. At least they don’t make lewd comments or try to touch my ass when I serve them at the bar, and a few are pretty easy on the eyes. All in all, they’re a chill enough group of guys, so I follow the footsteps of my slutty best friend.
Weaving between a group of drunken line dancers, I’m only stopped by five people wanting to chat. Impressive considering I can name almost every single person here. Although I feel the pitiful stare of every set of eyes, the whispers of gossip about my relationship crumbling. Another blatant reminder of why I don’t date locally.
Finally, I reach my destination, coming across Shelby straddling Denny on the end of a picnic table—tongues already down each other’s throats.
Jesus, she really wasn’t wasting any time.
Again, love that for her, but I can’t imagine making out with a guy in a place like this. News travels faster than head lice in Wells Canyon, and the rumors are just as irritating. Everyone from my dad to my kindergarten teacher to my hairdresser would know about it within minutes. A lesson I learned the hard way, after I made out with Steven Gregoire outside the corner store in the tenth grade and was forced into a disturbing sex talk from my dad the moment I walked through the front door. Never made that mistake again, which is likely why most people around here think I’m a goody-two-shoes prude.
My pair of amber bottles clunk against the rickety wood table when I sit across from Red, one of the Wells Ranch cowboys and, arguably, my least favorite of the bunch. If I had a dollar for every time I had to kick him out of the bar for fighting, I’d at least be able to pay for my drinks tonight. And if I had another dollar for every time he’s annoyed me since elementary school, I could retire and move to the Caribbean.
“You know, you don’t need to bring me beer when you aren’t working, Cass. But thank you, I’m touched.” Red makes a move like he’s going to grab one of my drinks, and I reflexively slap his muscular, heavily tattooed forearm.
“Do it, and I’ll cut you.”
He laughs and adjusts the faded Stetson covering his shaggy auburn hair. His nick-name isn’t exactly the most creative I’ve ever heard—it was even more on the nose when he was a little kid, with hair so red he looked like he belonged in the Weasley family. Now it has more brown to it, but the occasional time I’ve seen him with facial hair, it’s very apparent that he’s a true redhead through and through.
“So impolite when you’re off the clock,” he says with a smirk.
“Yeah, well, you aren’t going to tip me here, are ya? No need to feign niceness.”
For a long while we sit in silence, awkwardly pretending our best friends aren’t making out a foot away and watching the crappy Brooks & Dunn cover band run through “Play Something Country” for the fourth time this evening. You’d think we were at a real concert with the way all the drunk girls bounce in front of the stage. It’s guaranteed that one of them flashes their tits at the band before the night’s through. If Shelby wasn’t suctioned to Denver, I would bet money on her being the one to do it.
“Isn’t that your boyfriend?” Red’s head gestures toward where Derek and Alyssa must be. I don’t dare follow his gaze, my stomach cramping with a warning not to peek unless I want to feel downright murderous again. Suffering from a sudden case of restless leg syndrome, I bounce my knee and keep my focus trained on Red, his tongue tucked into his cheek as he narrows his eyes at them.
“Ex,” I correct him. “We broke up a couple of weeks ago.”
“Want me to punch him?”
“No, Red. I don’t.” I’d love to say yes—I’d love the thrill of watching Derek get a tiny piece of what he deserves—but it’s not worth whatever will happen after the initial hit.
“Want to get even? Make him jealous? We can make out right next to them.”
“Honestly, f*** off. I’m just trying to listen to music and drink in peace, okay? Why don’t you go ask a girl to dance or get in a fistfight or do literally anything other than bug me.”
“Well, I don’t dance. The sole person I’m thinking about fighting is your ex, which you already shot down. And I was sitting here first.”
Plopping my elbow onto the table, I sink my head into my hand to block him from view—effectively blocking Derek as well. Two annoying birds, one stone. A moment later, the table shifts as Red finally takes the hint and leaves.
Not nearly enough time has passed before his presence returns. At least this time, he comes bearing gifts, sliding a shot of tequila and another beer over to me. And I’m not one to turn down free drinks, even if I’m not partial to the guy buying them for me.
